Page 94 of Fragile Hearts

Me: You want me to come with you?

Sloane: Yeah, but I think this is something I should do by myself.

Me: I get that. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be there. Promise.

Sloane: I know you will. Thank you.

Me: Always.

Sloane: Are we still on for tonight?

Me: You sure you want to do that after seeing her?

Sloane: Yes, I’m sure.

Me: Ok. I’ll get everything sorted. You let me know if you need me. I hope it goes ok.

Sloane: TY...Love you.

* * *

“Shit,” I say, putting my phone away.

“Everything okay?” Nate asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Sloane’s gonna go see her mom.”

I can’t even believe I’m going to do this, but I need closure. I need her to know that this is officially over, and I will not have a connection to her any longer. Although she won’t hear a single word I say, too wrapped up in her own life. That’s what led to this in the first place.

After speaking with the officer who arrested her, I was able to get the information on where she’s being held, waiting for her extradition to California. I needed to schedule the visit, and I did that without being certain I planned to go.

But here I am, ready, my mind going in a hundred different directions. More than anything, I need this for me. This has nothing to do with her and all the trauma she’s caused me, but more to do with me finally recognizing what I need. It’s about self-protection and self-preservation. It’s about growth, and it’s about leaving behind all the historical damage that has been done.

I check my purse for my driver’s license for a third time, my hands shaking as I do, and I stop myself. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, counting down, letting my body calm itself. I can’t walk in there looking like I’m afraid or nervous.

I look around the house I share with Owen, taking in how wonderful it is, almost forgetting what it looked like just a few days ago. But that image will never leave my brain, and knowing it was at the hands of my mother makes it more disgusting than anything.

There will never come a time in my life when I forgive her for that. There are a lot of things I’ve overlooked, a lot of things I’ve moved on from, but breaking into my house, trashing it and stealing from me, that is unforgiveable.

Taking it in one last time, almost as a reminder of how far I’ve come, I leave. Heading to the prison to do something I should have done years ago, but when you’re fifteen or sixteen, it’s hard to reconcile the idea that your mother is a horrible person because society tells you she shouldn’t be. And even if she is, you shouldn’t cut her out of your life.

Society is wrong.

Wholly fucking wrong.

About thirty minutes later, I’m pulling up to the gate at the prison, giving them my name and driver’s license. I’m told where to park, where to enter and where to wait. I’m told what not to do, and what I’m allowed to do. Every word of it I take in, not wanting to fuck anything up because just being here feels wrong.

There will never come a time in my life when I see the inside of a prison again. This is a one-and-done because I will never surround myself with the kind of people who end up here. The kind of people who are just like my mother.

“Sloane Anderson,” a woman with a gruff voice calls out. She’s holding a clipboard, looking around the waiting area.

It takes a second for my mind to catch up, realizing she’s calling my name. I stand, walking over to her. She doesn’t bother to smile or introduce herself. I’m one of hundreds of people she will see today, but a part of me wants to tell her that I’m not like the other people who are here, waiting to see their family or friend or spouse who is spending time here. But I don’t even know what that means.

Not everyone here can be bad, and maybe they’re here to do exactly what I am.

To cut the negativity out of their life.

I hope they are.